


Hot-Blooded

by myriddin



Series: Consent [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: Sansa has always appreciated the sight of Jon in his element, hard at work in the woodshop. Jon appreciates her appreciation.





	Hot-Blooded

Sansa had never condoned her mother's judgement regarding Jon's decision not to go to university, but it was something she especially felt passionately about now that she had seen for herself the skill and dedication Jon applied to his chosen trade. 

From thirteen on, Jon had stopped bouncing around the foster system to take up permanent residence (at least until his eighteenth birthday) at a boys' home. Largely left to his own devices save for school attendance, set mealtimes, and curfew, he went in search for a source of pocket money to fund his daily visits to the Stark residence. Longclaw Custom Works first hired him to sweep the floor, but by sixteen he was apprenticed to Jeor Mormont, a master woodcraftsman and premiere furniture maker. Jon's artisan talent flourished under Jeor's tutelage, and it was all but set in stone that Jon was his chosen successor.

One of Jeor's nieces (some of whom worked shifts in the store, others ran a glassblowing business together, producing beautiful pieces sold at Longclaw alongside Jeor and his apprentices' work), Dacey, had hinted the last time she and Sansa crossed paths that the Old Bear attempting to find a way to make sure the self-effacing aspects of Jon's personality wouldn't get in the way.

Last on a Friday afternoon, Longclaw was virtually empty save for an elderly couple perusing the shelf of glass vases, and a sour-faced woman carrying on what looked like a rather one-sided argument with Jorelle Mormont. As Sansa drew closer, she could make out the tired frustration in Jory's voice as she calmly explained that no, custom orders were not refunded after the forms expressing satisfaction with the finished product had been signed and dated, especially six months after the purchase.

As the woman finally gave up with a huff and stormed out of the store, Jory only rolled her eyes and returned to the register in anticipation of the couple making their way to the front. She gave Sansa a tired smile, nodding toward the back. "Go on ahead, love. He's been working back there all afternoon. Let him know I'll be closing up soon, yeah?"

"I will. Thanks, Jory."

The smell of sawdust and varnish greeted her entrance into the back workshop, empty save for her diligently working lover in the corner.

It was a large space, lumber piled against the far wall, different cuts of more expensive woods scattered throughout. Individual workstations dominated the space, but Sansa had to circumvent her way around a few pieces of machinery that formed a makeshift shared area (she fondly reminisced on watching the play of Jon’s muscles as he worked the circular saw).

Jon’s station was typically kept neater than the other apprentices’, but strips and flecks of shaven wood were all over the floor today. She had suspected as much, but it hurt her heart to see the evidence he had been working away for hours on what was supposed to be his day off, even if she wasn’t surprised. Drowning himself in a new project when he had something on his mind was a long ingrained habit of Jon’s. He certainly had plenty to brood over these days.

Not wanting to interrupt his concentration right away, she admired a nearly-finished side-table, the crest of each leg finely carved into the shape of a wolf’s head. The only sound filling the shop was a soft, rhythmic scraping, enough to catch her attention and curiosity. With one end clamped down on his workbench and the other braced against his knee, Jon was  slowly, methodically, running a piece of sandpaper up and down the curved length of a rocker, the other unfinished pieces belonging to the rest of the rocking chair nearby.

A few minutes of silent observation passed before Jon finally spoke. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Used to what?”

He was quiet for a moment as he ran his fingers down the rocker, testing the grain and apparently satisfied with his work as he set the sandpaper aside, getting to his feet. “That look you get when you watch me work. There’s something about it…something more than interest…” he trailed off, a flush creeping up to his neck as he focused on gathering up his tools instead of meeting her eyes.

“Something like awe, maybe?” she asked gently. “Because I am in awe of what you do, Jon. You’re so talented, I don’t think you even realize how much.”

He finally raised his eyes to hers, a shy smile curling his lips. “I feel the same when I watch you draw, you know. You create such beautiful images, Sansa. It’s amazing.”

It was Sansa’s turn to feel a bit bashful, but she held his gaze, watching as his smile grew, reflecting the affection and warmth in his eyes. They stood there for a long moment, content with the quiet connection and understanding, before it naturally came to an end and Jon set to cleaning up.

He hung his tools back on the corkboard, Sansa following his example after in grabbing one of the two brooms kept in the workshop and beginning to sweep. They worked companionably until the space was neat and orderly. As Jon emptied the dustpan into the trash, slender arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips pressed to his nape. He hummed contently, turning his head to catch her mouth with his. Jon fully twisted around to wrap his arms around her in turn, a low moan rumbling in his throat as Sansa teased her tongue across the seam of his lips.

The kiss deepened, Sansa’s clever hands venturing beneath the hem of his t-shirt to slide up his back, drawing another of those delicious moans from his lips as she gently scored her nails across his shoulder-blades. She could feel a different sort of energy coiling in the muscles beneath her fingers, a familiar change that filled her with nerves and dread with Joffrey but only thrilled her with Jon. He wasn’t yet stirring between them enough to be noticeable, but the hungry tension of desire was settling in beneath his skin. She shivered with responsive want, overwhelmed with the visceral need to be closer, close as possible. Craving that feel of him, she rocked into him, frustrated when the position they were in didn’t allow for the closeness she desired.  

Reading her need as he was wont to do, his hands went from her waist to the back of her thighs, supporting her firmly as she kicked off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jon reluctantly broke the kiss out of need to watch where he was going as he started walking them toward the workbench, but she proved an irresistible as she nuzzled against his cheek, kissing the underside of his jaw. Jon groaned, unable to resist as he pressed her against the nearest solid surface, the partition wall separating the workstations to keep flying sawdust at bay. She undulated against him, lifting her hips until she could feel him, hard and thick, pressed flush to her center. A bolt of sensation shot through her and she rocked against him once more, chasing that pleasure. With a low growl, Jon thrust up in turn, the rickety plywood wall behind them creaking ominously in response.

The couple froze, staring stunned at one another for a long moment before bursting into incredulous laughter. Sansa tightened her hold on him and Jon secured his own before straightening up, intent on his original destination. “Jacket off, love,” he instructed softly. “Don’t want the edge of the bench biting into your thighs.”

With a hum of agreement, she obligingly shrugged out of the coat, allowing him to spread it out on the workbench before he settled her on top. His brow furrowed with a sudden thought and he shot a concerned glance over his shoulder, quickly refuted when her fingers curled around his chin, turning his face back toward her. “Jon Snow,” she gently chided. “When have I ever forgotten to lock the door?”

“Good point,” he conceded. Sansa smiled in reply, reaching up to pull his head down to hers. With a soft sigh, she laced her arms around his neck as she kissed him. It was a quiet, languorous contact, a gentle press of her mouth to his, deepening as he pressed closer. His hands stroked her sides, eliciting a pleased hum from her as they skimmed upward to just barely brush the undersides of her breasts in a ghostlike caress. She clutched at his shoulders, leaning further into his embrace as the warmth and the feel of him enthralled and called to her.

He nudged her collar aside, teasingly trailing light, fleeting kisses down her collarbone, and she tangled her fingers through his hair, angling her neck to give him better access. She gasped as he licked a stripe across her sensitized skin, a shock of sensation jolting straight to the core of her. “Jon,” she moaned, reluctantly giving his shoulders a gentle shove back.

He lifted his head and leaned back just enough for her to reach her hands between them, reaching for the hem of her top as she drew it over her head. Jon’s breath caught as he watched every hint of enticing skin being revealed (she would never stop being the most beautiful thing he had ever seen), his heartbeat picking up as she next reached for his t-shirt, lifting his arms to aid her venture.

She idly toyed with the silver pendant around his neck, letting her fingers trail down his chest, delighting in the feel of him. He was lean, wiry with muscles firm and taut beneath unexpectedly soft skin. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong (just the sight of them gave her a visceral memory of his embrace), his stomach toned and flat. Her eyes followed the thin strip of dark hair trailing downward to his waistband and she hooked her fingers in his belt-loops, pulling an unresisting Jon as close as possible, parting her legs to allow his hips to slot between her thighs.

Her arms wrapped around him, her torso molding into his, and he ran his hands from her waist to the small of her back. His touch was met with a moan of approval as calloused fingers caressed the smooth skin, tracing slow circles to elicit sensual shivers down her spine. She rocked her hips into his and Jon groaned. She was soft and warm and amazing pressed so close. He felt his trousers tighten, but focusing on himself was far from his intention.

He leaned down to give her a slow, lazy kiss, applying the same leisure to the steady, unhurried grind of his hips. They parted for breath, and the hungry, heavy-lidded look he gave her was downright sinful, nearly as visceral as a true caress as heat coiled low in her belly and pooled below. The friction brought with each drag of his body against her was deliciously pleasing, but as wonderful as it felt, it wasn’t quite enough. “Jon,” she mewled, arching into him in plea. “Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” he patiently replied, and Sansa’s kneejerk reaction was to protest, but she knew he wasn’t trying to tease or be cruel. Since that first night at the Greyjoy house when she’d been discomforted by a more intimate touch and frozen rather than speak up, Jon had been slowly encouraging her to give voice to her wants. Her cheeks burned, her tone was tentative and shy, but she managed to get the words out. “Could you…your mouth, like the other day?”

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss her once more, reaching over to undo the button and zipper to her jeans, Sansa kicking off her shoes and lifting her hips to aid him in pulling them off, taking her knickers down with them, kneeling down before her.

He reached up to tug her closer to the edge, encouraging her to spread her legs a little further and drape them over his shoulders. His hands were warm, scarred and calloused from years of woodwork, against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, as he brought his right to their apex, his fingers sliding through the tight thatch of curls to just barely dip between her folds, rubbing back and forth to gather lubrication, then running his thumb over her clit, feeling the little nub grow harder with each stroke. With his index and middle finger, he parted her lower lips, nudging his head closer until the thick, musky scent of her filled nearly every sense, finally dominating the last as he licked into her.

He started slow, with lazy, indiscriminate swipes of his tongue. She sighed contently, running her fingers through his hair, hips jolting forward as his nose nudged against her clit. He turned his attention there, sucking lightly at the little nub, and her hold on his hair tightened, drawing an appreciative groan as her nails scratched against his scalp.

At first, she fought her body’s need to move, but soon enough she couldn’t deny instinct, hips jerking up to meet his mouth with every stroke of his tongue. He licked until his jaw ached, firm and slow until her rocking picked up in urgency, her body held tense, drawn taut like a bowstring. He couldn’t hear as her thighs had come to bracket around his head, covering his ears, but he was certain her breath had grown ragged and harsh. She was close, and he ached to be the one to bring her there, throbbed painfully in his jeans at knowing he was about to.

He added his fingers, slipping easily through her wetness and inside her. He curled them, closing his lips around her clit and sucking hard. Her back bowed, her walls clenched down hard around him, and her thighs clamped tight around his head as she came.

He stroked and licked through the last waves of her orgasm. Smugly pleased as he was, it was still a relief to breathe easy again when her legs fell limp back against his shoulders. She blew out a long, unsteady breath, tugging gently on his hair. Jon followed the unspoken request, grimacing at the crack his knees made as he got to his feet (he hadn’t stopped to think about the concrete floor). Sansa winced in sympathy. “Poor dear,” she murmured softly, leaning in to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips as she deepened the contact, licking into his mouth.

The pressure of the kiss strained his sore jaw, but it barely registered more than the pain in his knees. Still, Sansa was aware of his discomfort, slowing down with a few chaste pecks to his lips. “That was beyond wonderful, darling.” Feeling both sated and bold, she reached down to cup him. “Let’s get this taken care of, and then we’ll find a nice soft bed, hmm?’


End file.
